My dearest one, I cannot help fearing that your prayer was not sufficiently humble in tone. Methought there was too much of the note of pride in it.
The Man.
No, no, my wife. I did but speak Him fair, as man would speak to man. Surely He cannot prefer flatterers to open, self-respecting men who speak the truth? No, wife; you do not understand Him. I feel quite confident again now, and my mind is at ease—it is even cheerful. I feel that I can still do a little to help our son, and the thought gives me comfort. Go now, and see if he is asleep. He ought to have a good, sound sleep.
[The Man's Wife leaves the room, and the Man seems to throw a glance as of gratitude towards the Being in Grey; after which he takes up the doll again, and begins to play with it, and to kiss its long red nose. Presently his Wife returns.]
The Man.
(With cheerful animation). Yes, I feel sure now that I am' forgiven for my late insult to this little friend of mine. And how is our dear boy?
His Wife.
He looks so dreadfully pale!
The Man.
Oh, that is nothing. That will soon pass away. You must remember that he has lost so much blood.